The time it takes
by PresidentTheAwesome
Summary: Haymitch and Effie's feelings in the time they've spent together. Smut ahoy! Effie/Seneca hinted but HAYFFIE for the win!


**Don't really know what this is… First Hayffie! Loved them in the books, fell in love with them on the big screen. Wasn't sure if this should really be rated M but after re-reading I don't think I could get away with just a T… Um yeah, this is practically sex. Anyway, let me know what you think :) **

_**I don't own Haymitch, Effie or anything created by Suzanne Collins.**_

The first time could have only been described as for comfort. Four years being an escort and as it goes, Effie Trinket found it didn't get any easier. Collecting the children from A to B only for them to be ruthlessly killed or as Haymitch had put it; ''preparing them like pigs for slaughter''

She'd sat on the couch after everyone had left and started to sob and then drank until the tears stopped. This had happened each year so far but this year, she thought maybe, just _maybe_ those District 12 kids had a chance but of course fate had been a cruel mistress.

When Haymitch found her she had been and mess and he was drunk. He too found it difficult to watch the young tributes slaughter each other in a bloody battle that the Capitalists watched for fun. _Entertainment._ And it was today that he realised Effie was different. He had heard her on the odd occasion in her room, muffled sobs and whimpers as she cried herself to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

He slumped down next to her on the expensive leather suit; it only took a reassuring hand on her shoulder, some slight sign of affection – understanding before they were crashing their lips together. This was when it all started.

He could taste the mix of salt from her tears and bitterness from the alcohol on her soft lips.

It was more needy than anything else. Their eagerness showing in the rough groping and urgent tugging of clothes. The way she mewled as he thrust up into her more forceful than was polite or how her hands clutched at his shoulders as he took her, hard on the couch.

She urged him to be rough with her. Wrapping her legs round his back so she wouldn't be pushed further up the couch when he lost all sense of rhythm and pounded into her with abandon. She encouraged him not to hold back, not to worry about hurting her because she _needed _this.

It wasn't long before she was crying his name, meeting his deep thrusts with her own until he had her almost screaming. He soon followed, coming with a loud shout into her shoulder.

The following morning had been somewhat awkward. They avoided the subject as well as each other as much as possible, when they did have to tolerate each other's presence they resumed their usual loathing for each other. She called him an insufferable drunk; he called her an uptight cow. But the name calling and the petty jibes didn't stop him from taking her to bed the following night. It didn't stop her from inviting him either.

* * *

They fell into a sort of routine, a quick fumble in the elevator, hurried snog in an empty corridor. It didn't mean anything; it just allowed them the release they both craved. In the eye of the public they were nothing more than people forced to work together, colleagues who put up with each other for the sake of the roles they had to upkeep.

He didn't love her and she didn't love him. Although she'd never been _in_ love, he had but she hadn't. She'd had _lovers_ of course but never felt that need to be tied to someone not just physically but emotionally as well. But they both found that as the years went by, they actually liked being in each other's company, looked forward to it even.

However, they agreed that their little arrangement was to be nothing more than strictly corporal; no feelings must register other than the ones driven by need and lust.

The next was one of their more risky rendezvous. They hadn't seen each other since the last Hunger Games nearly a year ago; obviously they hadn't been able to stick to their routine whilst she remained in the Capitol.

''Haymitch, quit it!'' she had nearly squeaked when his hand had ventured up her skirt for the third time in the elevator as they got closer and closer to the penthouse. In all honesty she was quite surprised he had lasted this long, they would normally sneak off together on the train but this year he was exceptionally drunk and keeping her distance from him had been the only thing she could do to stop him from jumping on her infront of this year's tributes.

''But no one else is here…'' he trailed off meaning to leave the suggestiveness of his statement open. He was stood behind her, one hand splayed across her corseted stomach, pulling her into him whilst the other trailed up her outer thigh, bringing the hem of her garish pink skirt with it.

''Can't you wait?'' she huffed, trying to bat his wandering hands away, ''Once we get them settled we can spend all the time we want doing _whatever _we want''

Her suspicions that he simply couldn't wait were confirmed when he pressed his lower self to her behind and she felt his straining erection firmly in the small of her back.

''Missed you...'' he nipped at her earlobe playfully, hoping to rouse her back to the irresponsible, carefree Effie who sunk to her knees and wrapped her mouth round his cock the last time they were in the elevator alone together – granted they had broken down and had to wait for maintenance but that was the Effie he was most familiar with, the one he both knew and loved the most. Wait, not loved – _liked_.

''_Haymitch…_'' the sound off Effie's breathily moan brought him back to reality, he smirked into her neck when he saw her eyes closed, her lips parted, chest heaving beneath the tight silken jacket she wore. Her head was thrown back onto his shoulder carelessly as he sucked on the pale skin of her neck, it was sure to leave a mark and she was sure to scold him for it later but right now he couldn't care less.

He bit down gently, knowing she would yelp and she did. He loved these noises she made and he loved being the one to make her do them, especially the ones where she would moan more and more high pitched with every thrust he made causing her to writher beneath him.

He hit bit down again, this time letting his teeth sink slowly into her flesh, rewarding him with another gasp as her body went stiff with that glorious mixture of pleasure and the right amount of pain. She pushed her bottom into his groin in return, chuckling at the half grunt, half growl he gave.

''You like playing the tease don't you?'' his voice was muffled by her skin as he nuzzled his jaw and chin down her neck, knowing it would tickle due to his stubble. ''You love flaunting yourself infront of me with your impossibly tight skirt… Knowing there isn't a damn thing I can do about it''

She would normally scold him for cursing but she was too lost in herself to really take notice, any moment now and the lift would stop at the arrival of the penthouse, the doors would open and they would be exposed to whoever was no doubt waiting for them on the other side but from now until then… Well…

Effie pulled herself out of his grasp, allowing him to feel a moment of disappointment before she pressed herself up against him. Kissing his lips, his chin, his neck – anywhere she could reach. Her hands roamed over his broad chest, not knowing where to touch first and she wished the dark shirt he was wearing was non-existent so she could feel his skin beneath her palms.

It was a matter of seconds before Haymitch grabbed her backside, pulling her more flush against him so he could switch their positions, she now being the one pressed against the wall.

Using his weight to keep her up, he stooped to grab her leg behind the knee, pulling it up over his waist, all the while hitching her skirt up higher, bunching it in his fist.

Her chin was resting on his shoulder, arms wrapped round his back as his fingers found their destination. She barely managed to whimper something about having no time before he pulled away slightly, fully intending to undo his belt buckle and take her as hard as he could against the elevator wall.

She was just contemplating helping him when there was a loud 'ding' around them, signalling their arrival and the door about to open. She only just managed not to topple over when he moved away and she slid down the wall to her feet. They had approximately 3 seconds to straighten their clothes, Effie's wig, correct the smudged lipstick around her mouth, or in Haymitch's case – his face and look presentable enough for the people on the other side.

When they exited the elevator Cinna and Portia as well as quite a few others were waiting for them, if they noticed either of them looking flustered they kept it quiet.

It was later that evening when Effie noticed a bright purple mark tainting her porcelain skin.

* * *

His tongue skates up her thigh, lapping up the sweet taste of her - Of Effie. When his tongue flicks over her hot, wet centre her hands fly to his hair. Her legs are thrown over his shoulders and she forgets what he did to make her so mad, whatever it was, he's making a _very_ good apology.

He smirks, because he has to. His mouth can get him into such trouble where Effie is concerned and then get him out of it just as quick. Haymitch sighs contently, quite happy to spend the rest of the day with his face nestled between her thighs, listening to her soft moans and mewls as he winds her up to a quivering state until she _begs_ him for release. He's quite smug with this ability.

She grasps harder onto his hair when his tongue starts thrusting into her, slowly at first then he uses his fingers, taking it in turns. He moans this time because he can't get enough of her and soon her hips are lifting off his mattress, he has to use his hands to pin her down, keeping her still so he can continue his slow administrations.

Her back arches, breasts pushed outwards, all perky and _glorious _as he slowly fucks her with his tongue. Its not long before he feels her start to shake, her legs that are now wrapped round his neck begin to tremble and she's holding on so tightly to his hair that he's sure he'll have patches missing. She's trying to rock her hips, get his tongue _just that bit_ further inside her and when she does have her orgasm, his shirt collar around the neck is drenched.

* * *

It's only fucking. That's what she tells herself, that's what they call it. It's not making love. To make love requires feeling and emotion but sometimes it's hard to ignore that pulling feeling that makes either of them want to be in the same room, to sit next to each other on the couch or at the table.

Over the years they've spent together he came to realise that she's not just the stuck up escort, caked in make-up and ridiculous clothes from the Capitol he thought she always was and she realises there's more to him than the drunken victor with the foul mouth she always assumed he was.

When the games begin, the pain starts. It's only when they're wrapped up in each other does the pain stop, when he's whispering all the things he's going to do to her then fulfils his promises later. When she'd coiling up inside tighter and tighter, begging him to go faster until the bright lights obscure her vision or when he tells her how much he loves being inside her, her warmth wrapped around him, milking him for all he's worth or how much she turns him on just by running around in them heels all day.

She loves the way his stubble tickles her thighs when he kisses his way up her legs to her core.

He loves the way her nails claw at his back when they have it particularly rough or when they gently scrape his testicles when she takes his cock in her mouth.

Not loves – _likes_.

When one of the Capitalists flirts with her at a ceremony, he finds himself getting jealous but then reminds himself that he has no right.

When there's glass all over the floor and she finds him passed out on his bed she feels obliged to sit and nurse him till he wakes up then reminds herself she has no business to.

One year when both their tributes got killed within the first day, they'd had a huge argument and he'd spent the entire night in the bar. Effie hadn't even bothered to find him but she'd know where he was and Haymitch had seen her, dilly dallying around with Seneca hovering around her. He'd watched them, Seneca would whisper something in her ear and she'd laugh politely, her hand would absentmindedly brush his arm or when she wasn't paying attention he would let his eyes wonder, lingering on her chest for a fraction too long than Haymitch cared to witness.

He wondered why he cared, she was free to shag whoever she liked but he couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse when after a year of being apart, he found that the two of them had been keeping each other's bed warm at night.

Effie had told him it didn't mean anything; they just got together sometimes. The same thing she and Haymitch had been doing before he went back to District 12 but not as much on a regular basis. She was sick of being his plaything, which he would leave then pick back up when he returned. He'd called her a whore, all the names he could think of to hurt her feelings because that's what she had done to him. Made him _feel.__  
_

She'd slapped him across the face and told him he was no better. That they'd never said anything about seeing other people. He'd shouted at her and she'd screamed at him back. It wasn't before long that he'd pushed her up against the wall, his hand shaking as he held her by the throat. His breath was coming out harshly through his nose as he struggled to contain his anger and he saw her wince, preparing for the blow that would surely follow.

He let go, Haymitch looked down at his still trembling hands, disgusted with himself; she'd thought he was going to hit her… He'd made her afraid of him.

When he looked back up he saw his hand print white against her pale skin. He would never hurt her, not his Effie. What sort of man could hurt the ones he loves?

Not loves – _likes. _Not _his_ Effie.

The following morning she wears a high necked blouse. They ignore it, pretend nothing happened and get on as usual but he can see the hurt in her eyes when she looks at him.

When they lay in bed afterwards, a fine layer of sweat drying over both their bodies, Effie imagines their arrangement being a permanent fixture but of course, it's only fucking. Haymitch rolls over, trying to ignore the same thoughts.

* * *

Each year when Haymitch has to go back to District 12, it gets harder and harder to say goodbye. They don't say anything though, just that they'll see each other next year.

When Seneca knocks at Effie's bedroom door wearing nothing but a silk dressing gown and a smile and holding a bottle of Champaign, she finds it increasingly difficult to open the door. She won't see Haymitch for months and it doesn't take much effort for her to lay back and open her legs, do what Seneca thinks is making love but it's not the same. When she's with Haymitch it's like they're on fire, she feels it in all her nerve endings, the electricity when he kisses her shoots straight to her core… Nothing like the man on top of her, sure he's handsome enough and any girl would be lucky to have him but he's not enough for Effie. He doesn't satisfy her, doesn't make her stomach flip with anticipation when he touches her, in all honestly she finds it rather dull. He can't make her scream like Haymitch does, can't make her come with just his fingers like Haymitch does.

Seneca kisses down her neck; stopping to nip at her collar bone then lower to her chest and she feels nothing. It feels empty. Empty and _wrong._

She allows him to carry on anyway because she can't spend her life waiting for Haymitch. Why should she?

She forces herself to sit up, making Seneca kneel infront of her. He momentarily looks confused before he sees the wicked grin spread across her face and she's pushing him backwards to straddle him. Her nails graze down his chest, through his dense chest hair to the more prominent hair below his navel.

She lowers herself onto him and they both groan at the feeling, although she can't help but compare him to Haymitch – Seneca doesn't fill her like he does.

They begin to rock together, slowly at first and then she's riding him. Faster and faster until she's practically bouncing. Seneca comes first with a shout of her name, spilling inside her but she's far from done yet. He helps her along by finding her clit with his fingers and it's only a few more bounces before she collapses on top of him.

It feels more like a chore with Seneca, a duty she abides herself by. Something she's got used to doing, it's not like she has to go out of her way. He'll come to her at night time but during the day their 'relationship' seems even duller, sure he'll wrap his arm round her waist, kiss her hand, pull her chair out for her when she sits down – everything a gentleman should do, but it's not a gentleman she wants.

She remembers if she and Haymitch were in the same room, he only had to look at her a fraction too long before her pulse quickened, the heat pooled between her legs. She relished the smug look he'd give her when he'd slap her backside when people weren't looking, even if she was cross with him he'd push his luck knowing there was nothing she could do about it. She remembers the feel of his beard beneath her fingertips or scraping her skin when he kissed her, Seneca's beard feels soft, well-kept and _fake._

But then again, _she's_ fake.

* * *

She doesn't feel well. She's sure it's food poisoning; the last three nights she'd spent throwing her guts up in her en suite but it's this night that it hits the worst. She's slumped on the cool tiled floor with her chin resting on the toilet rim, her hair it pulled away from her face in a hasty ponytail (wig and make-up none existent as it's night time) and she's wearing her silk nightie. Another row with Haymitch ensures she's alone in bed tonight, alone and unwell, feeling sorry for herself as she chokes up what little contents she had left in her stomach.

A hand on her shoulder rouses her from her senses and she knows it's him. Haymitch crouches on the floor next to her, glass of water in hand and he rubs her back comfortingly. She's still mad at him for what he'd said to her but she can't deny his presence is welcomed.

''That's it, get it all up sweetheart'' he soothes, it's like role reversal. Usually she's the one keeping his hair away from his face as he's violently sick, rubbing his back in reassuring circles, holding the glass whilst he takes steady sips of water but this time it's her.

She'd always hated being sick, even as a child it scared her. Effie often wondered how Haymitch put up with it so much.

He hands her a towel and she wipes her mouth, thanking him. She's got next to nothing on, a short nightie to cover up her modesty and that's it, but his eyes don't wonder not once and Effie's thankful because she's not up for it tonight.

When there's nothing left to throw up, he helps her stand on shaky legs. She feels tiny in his arms, her hands fisting in his shirt as they walk over to her bedroom.

Tonight is the first night they share a bed without any funny business, Haymitch slips into 'his side' fully clothed after helping Effie into hers.

Again, he wonders why he cares so much.

He lies awake for most of the night, Effie tucked by his side with his arm under her head. He lets his mind drift to what it would be like to wake up to her face every morning, her presence in bed the last thing he feels at night. It's just a thought though. She's from the Capitol and he's a victor from District 12, it was never going to be anything more.

* * *

Its 2 more years before they confess. After much arguing, fighting, sex, mentoring and annoying Effie to no end, he tells her he loves her. He hadn't meant to of course. It had just been a slip of the tongue.

He'd helped rescue Effie from the Capitol. They'd kidnapped her, tortured her, and almost beaten her to death. When he carried her out of her prison he was almost sure she wasn't going to make it.

She'd seemed so fragile and broken when he carried her, she had always been light but it felt like he was carrying a feather compared to her usual self. Her skin had been marked with scars and bruises, her beautiful hair chopped and matted.

He promised Effie right then that he would protect her, although it was a promise he could never keep.

It was weeks later before she could bear to be touched, even by him. Even the slightest of gestures could make her flinch. It was even longer before she could stand him to see her naked, her skin even though it had been fixed, still showed signs of her torture.

His Effie was slipping away; he had to coax her to let him see her without make-up or in less than her nightie. When she did, she felt ashamed and he couldn't understand why. Tears trailed down her cheeks when she did finally allow him to make love to her but he kissed them away. He kissed her cuts and scars, all the time reassuring her that she looked beautiful – image had always been important to Effie.

When he pushed himself inside her she almost yelped, still trying to get used to the fact he was not going to hurt her. He was slow at first, long deep thrusts – far more gentle then what they usually were; trying to look for signs that she really wanted him to stop. When she visibly started to relax he picked up the pace, all the time whispering words of encouragement into her ear.

She clung to him desperately, meeting his quickening thrusts with her own. She knew he was holding back, not wanting to go too fast in case he hurt her – she wasn't made of glass!

''Haymitch…'' she whispered, he lifted his head from her shoulder, his blonde hair hanging limply over his face as he continued to move inside her, ''_please_'' he knew what she meant. He was going to slow for her, oh Effie, she's still there.

He pulled her leg up from the bend behind her knee to hook over his waist, granting a better angle. Her arms were slinked under his and curled up over his back so her hands rested on his shoulders – everything felt so right with this man.

''Come on Effie, come for me sweetheart'' his hips were now just snapping back and forth, he was struggling to keep it up as he felt himself nearing his end, Effie's moans getting louder and louder were practically tipping him over the edge and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on. ''_scream_ for me Effie'' he was really losing it now, eyes shut tight in concentration, sweat quickly coating his chest.

He groaned when he felt her shatter, almost relieved that she was there and scream she did. It had taken him longer, a lot longer than usual… He gritted his teeth as she clamped down on his cock, determined to carry on until he got his own release, her hands pressed into his lower back, urging him on. She whispered something in his ear, something he couldn't hear over the sound of blood pounding in his ears and she smoothed his sweat soaked hair away from his face.

When he did finally come it was so sudden and fast that he was almost shocked, he collapsed on top of her, relief flooding him.

Effie wriggled underneath him, trying to get more comfortable, not caring that he was a dead weight on top of her. She brought a hand to scrape through his messy hair, damp with sweat and she kissed his forehead – it really was a sweet little gesture but one she had become accustomed to doing.

The next thing that happened she really did not expect. He propped himself up on his elbows, looked her in the eyes and told her that as stubborn as she could be, he couldn't bear to be without her and blurted out that it annoyed him that he loved her so much. Effie smiled. She loved him, of course she did. No one could ever come close to what she felt for this man on top of her. He could piss her off so easily then have her melting to putty within the next breath. She laughs, she has to;

''I love you too, you insufferable man''

* * *

**Wrote that in 3 hours which is super speedy for me. Review? :3**


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